Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [19]
He had pulled aside the high collar of his parka, and his breath steamed the air. Even from this height, the lass could see that he was angry, his face red with more than cold, and he was punching one mittened fist into the other. He kicked at the boulder, suddenly, viciously, and let fly with a curse.
“Get down,” the isbjørn said.
The lass slithered off his back, and Rollo came up alongside. A thrill of fear ran through the girl. Maybe it was all lies. Maybe now the bear was going to eat her, and Rollo, and Askeladden. Or it had changed its mind and was going to just leave her here. At least, with the white fur parka, she was warm.
“Wait here,” the bear said.
He loped a little farther along the edge of the ravine and raised his head, sniffing the air. He made a strange sound, a sort of hollow huffing noise that tingled the lass’s ears and seemed to carry on the wind. After a few heartbeats it was answered by a similar sound that came from the south of where they were.
Then the enchanted bear stood on his hind legs. He was twice as tall as Hans Peter, the lass realized. He extended his black claws, curled his lips back to reveal long white teeth, and snarled. Down in the ravine, Askeladden was too busy cursing to notice. The bear opened his mouth and let out a roar that shook the snow from the boughs of the trees all around them.
The lass sat down with a bump in a snowdrift, her jaw agape. Riding on the bear had been exhilarating, and she had been daydreaming about the palace she was going to live in. Now it hit her, hard, that she was at the mercy of a very large and very wild animal, enchanted or not.
Sitting in the snowdrift with Rollo pressing against her, she could no longer see down into the ravine, but she could hear Askeladden’s shout. There was a twang, and a crossbow bolt struck into a tree just to the left of the bear’s head. The bear dropped to all fours and ran, keeping to the edge of the ravine but going in the opposite direction from the lass.
“Let’s go,” she said to Rollo, pushing him aside so that she could clamber to her feet.
“He said to wait here,” the wolf argued.
“Do you really mean to take orders from a bear?”
And off she went, giving her pet no choice but to follow. She kept closer to the trees, not wanting her brother to catch sight of her. In the white parka and boots, he might decide she was a very small bear, and take a practice shot at her. In fact, having felt the pelt of the enchanted isbjørn, she was convinced that Hans Peter’s parka was made of the same fur. She wondered anew where her brother had gotten it, and what the embroidery meant.
The bear’s tracks curved in from the edge a little, and the lass thought that very wise. There was no way of knowing if the ground underneath the snow was stable, or was there at all. It was possible to walk on the thickly crusted drifts that extended out from cliffs, but usually only for a very small and cautious human. For something the size of the enchanted bear, it could be deadly.
The trees along the top of the ravine cleared, and she skidded to a stop only a few paces from the isbjørn. No, from two isbjørner. The second one was not as large, nor as white, but it was still magnificent. The bears stood nose to nose, growling deep in their throats.
The smaller bear began backing away, whining. The larger bear stalked toward it, a commanding note in his growl. The lass moved her hood back a little from her face, trying to hear what they said.
“No, please, brother,” the smaller isbjørn pleaded.
“I am not your brother,” the enchanted bear said, his voice angry. “Do it now.”
“No, please, my lord,” the other bear whined.
The larger of the isbjørn, the lass’s isbj